


Old Professions

by knifehost



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Hobbies, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifehost/pseuds/knifehost
Summary: Maxwell and Wolfgang share a little bit of their old lives together.





	Old Professions

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for the lovely [nikodavisartwork](http://nikodavisartwork.tumblr.com) on tumblr! (Check out his art, yo!)  
> I had a lot of fun doing this and I hope you all enjoy!

The former magician straightens up his posture with a few cracks announcing their leave from his former slumping state only to take a wide step across the rocky terrain towards his travel partner. He then snakes a thin arm around the strongman’s log of an arm for added support, also to stand in the larger man’s shadow to escape a bit of the ending summers lingering heat. He grins like a fox at the raised eyebrow he receives before inquiring, “What're we doing here? I've forgotten.”

He's met with a deep hearty laugh from his companion that vibrates within his chest making him feel as if he were right next to a very bass filled band. Wolfgang slings a pickaxe over his broad shoulder, the pick barely grazing the older gentlemen's nose in the process. “We collect rocks!” His statement does not resonate well with Maxwell who could not be any less enthusiastic about the laborious task at hand. Though, he never was or would be. 

He trades holding onto the strongman's arm for leaning his back against a boulder only to sink down onto his rear. The rocky surface was in no way comfortable, but he couldn't be bothered to participate in the process. He groans, “Ugh, how many?” as if he isn’t sitting on the ground and doesn't already have his nose buried into the Codex.

His companion scratches his head against the wooden shaft of his pickaxe, “Er- Ms. Willow say as much as possible,” he hears the older gentleman groan again which makes him chuckle a bit. “Will be very hard to get rocks from down there, Magic Man.” He was practically the only survivor allowed to poke fun at Maxwell and took advantage of that privilege when possible.

“Oh, I suppose I should help too,” he complies, but in his own unique way per usual. Without getting up and hardly moving a muscle, to no one's surprise, he flips through the age stained pages of the codex while the strongman watches curiously from a few feet away. His attention is further heightened when Maxwell taps his finger rapidly on what he can only assume is the correct page. The older gentleman begins to move his slender hands in fluid movements until a shadow minion with the exact translucent embodiment of himself smokes and bubbles out of the Codex. It's armed with its own pickaxe and does not hesitate in the least to begin its reign of breaking down every rock within their vicinity.

Wolfgang had never seen anything like _those_ before, or at least until he got to the constant and met Maxwell in person, but the amount of times that they were used had little to no effect on anyone’s judgements or curiosities surrounding them. In fact, most of the survivors were stubborn in their opinions, especially when it came to Maxwell, but Wolfgang was only ever intrigued rather than suspicious like some of the others. He never seemed to be anything less than amazed by the shadows that Maxwell could conjure up. They filled him with an increasing wonder with flames that could never be dulled by something silly such as repetition. It only burned brighter each time, making him more and more excited to see the next and what they could possibly do. Being close to one right now made him feel incredibly lucky to experience something so special, even if he was the only one who thought so. 

Mistakenly, those looks of wonder were misjudged for annoyance by the older gentleman, a terrible insecurity that he had yet to overcome. Even in his later years, he could never bury that timid boy in glasses that brought him to the constant in the first place, nor any of his anxieties. No matter how frivolous they may be, something in his chest still shook with dreaded worry. The only difference now is that he doesn’t run anymore. Instead he braves them through walls that are just as fragile, but many in number.

“Don't worry about it. I'll pick everything up later,” He spoke reassuringly, but not to himself. His eyes were hooded and hooked into the rocky surface, searching the endless greys while the strongman kneels in front of him, pickaxe sitting on his broad shoulder. He places a large hand on the former king’s shoulder, smiling warmly, “Will take very long time, Magic man. Unless you have other trick up sleeve,” he teases.

His kind gesture pulls a grin from Maxwell. “I have my ways,” he tugs an orange amulet out of his pocket and as if on cue, the amulet sucks a nearby rock into his pocket giving him a start. He clears his throat, “You see? Besides, we'll collect more than enough gold and whatever else for everyone.”

“If you says so,” the strongman chuckles before bringing himself back onto his feet. He manages to find a boulder, not too far away, that the shadow puppet had yet to demolish. He brings the pickaxe down with such a force that it nearly shatters the entire boulder in a single strike and finishes the job with the second hit. He makes it seem so effortless, not even breaking a sweat in this lingering summer heat. 

Maxwell takes notice of this show of strength and becomes rather interested by it. The Codex begins to billow into smoke, disappearing into his pocket before he rises up from his spot to do just a bit of prodding. He leans against the new boulder that his travel companion was about to move onto, brow raised at him, finger poked into Wolfgang’s broad chest, “Is that something that you used to do?” 

“Break big rock?” Wolfgang asks puzzled, as he slings the pickaxe back over his shoulder.

“No no, pal. Well… Maybe, I'm not entirely sure what it is that those people do.” He gesticulates clumsily as he talks, “Were you in fact a strongman?”

“Yes!” He seems to perk up at this like an excited puppy with a glint shining in his deep brown eyes. “Was also fighter!” He drops the pickaxe with a _clank_ against the rocky earth to assume a fighting stance, both fists out in front of him. He moves around like he's animated, throwing little fake punches into the air.

Maxwell found a smile curling its way onto his plush lips. He was amused by Wolfgang's little caricatures. Though, even if it was just silly charades now, it was remarkably hard for the older gentlemen to imagine his companion as any kind of fighter, unless of course, he had to be. Certain situations required that here in the constant, but he was very soft inside, especially towards others. Despite the fact that he was undoubtedly built like a champion of the sport, Maxwell could never imagine him purposely trying to knock someone unconscious in a ring. He decides to void that particular subject. 

“What about when you were a strongman? What did you do then?” 

Wolfgang straightens up and places both fists on his hips, puffing out his chest, “Lift and throw many thing!” He beamed, “Could bend steel beam at one time!”

Maxwell can't think of a time he ever saw the strongman this passionate about something, but his smile and energy were both positively contagious. “That's absolutely remarkable..” he praised, thoroughly impressed by his statement.

The strongman moves in closer towards Maxwell,“Could bend you in knot!”

He puts his hands up defensively “I'd rather you didn't, pal.” To which Wolfgang places his hands on his hips, much to Maxwell's forced dismay. Before he can even think of asking what he's doing, the strongman lifts him up ever so effortlessly.

“Magic Man is like little feather!” he exclaims while he holds Maxwell as high off the ground as he can to which the older gentlemen’s cheeks burn in response, undeniably turning a hint of rouge. Seeing how happy this made Wolfgang was certainly something special to witness and even though he would never admit it out loud, he was rather cute. This realization only makes his blush deeper. His eyes flick around looking for a savior from his embarrassment, but come to a halting stop when Wolfgang hugs him to his chest before dropping him onto his feet.

His face is still positively burning as he adjusts his suit while staring directly downwards at the rocky earth. The strongman wraps his arm around his shoulders. He's still beaming just as brightly as before, but now there's something else curiously glinting in his dark eyes.

“You were magician, yes?” 

Maxwell begins to respond, but it's at this time his shadow puppet reports back leaving rocks, gold, and nitre in its wake. He thanks the shadow for it's service before it bubbles into a mass of nightmare fuel that he promptly pockets. 

“Let’s pick this up and get back to camp. I think we’re more than done here.” He can see the disappointment in the strongman's eyes from his avoidance. It stings to see him sad even in the least bit. “I'll show you some of what I used to do back at camp. How's that?” By the immediate sparkle in his eyes he can tell that it means the world to him.

* * *

Maxwell has already begun undoing his tie with one hand whilst waving at Wolfgang with the other to sit, “Make yourself comfortable, pal. I'll just be a minute,” before disappearing into the tent. It's a beginner step that he hasn't made in quite a while, much like how he hasn't dared to look at that dreadful old suit in what feels like ages. 

Looking over the old costume now that it's laid out before him left a nostalgic taste in his mouth, but this one wasn't the least bit bitter at all, surprisingly. This felt relatively swell, like visiting an old friend that you have missed dearly. Still, he can't believe how he ever thought that this suit looked good, despite the lack of cash he had at the start he did like to believe that he had standards, but this did seem to prove otherwise. 

Wolfgang sat cross-legged on the woolen carpet noting a faint hint of beefalo scent still somehow wafting up from the faded fibers. It didn't take long for his attention to be drawn elsewhere as the former magician to pops out of the tent in a plume of black smoke billowing out behind him, arms extended exclaiming “Ta-da!”

He was adorned in a rather old purple three piece suit with a bright red bow tie at his neck. He even wore a pair of white gloves and some circular spectacles upon his face that gave him more of a youthful appearance. 

Tugging up his sleeves to put to rest any thought of a ruse, he said with an utmost confidence that you can only gain from repeating the same phrase and trick several times, “Nothing up my sleeves,” then with a snap of his fingers and a burst of smoke from his palm, a purple top hat appeared out of thin air, or rather smoke, right in front of Wolfgang's nose. Maxwell chimed, “-But there's something in my hand!” watching the strongman's mouth pops open in delighted surprise.

There's a genuine smile spreading across Maxwell’s lips. He found himself missing the performance life quite a bit and this was proving to be quite a wonderful bit of nostalgia for him. “Albeit, that wasn’t a part of the original act. That trick came later.” He taps on the rim of the top hat with the pads of his gloved fingers. “Oh, but this one is certainly familiar,” he’s grinning from ear to ear as he presents the hat in front of Wolfgang, he gives a little wink, “Reach inside, pal.” 

It's obscenely dark within the top hat, but curiosity is soon replaced by sparkles of delight filling the strongman’s umber eyes as a silky fur grazes the tips of his fingers. Nestled inside this mysterious magician’s hat was a rabbit, thin little horns, bell shaped ears, twitching nose and all. It was just like the other rabbits of the constant, except this one was rather docile. It sat perfectly content within the strongman’s hands, nuzzling its nose into his broad fingers. 

“Is so very cute...” His voice is just above a whisper while the rabbit sniffs around its newfound surroundings. His umber eyes were watering up at the fuzzy little being within his hands, he barely even noticed that Maxwell had placed the top hat upon his head. The magician knelt and wrapped an arm around the strongman’s shoulders. 

“Well, pal, what’d you think?” He scritches under the rabbit’s chin with a gloved finger.

“Is amazing,” he keeps his voice to a whisper around the rabbit. 

Those words wrap around him like a hug, filling him with warmth and an idea. He holds out his palm, both men watching as a black goo bubbles out of his palm and solidifies into a black deck of cards. He holds up a card to Wolfgang, in the card’s metallic purple design is a king, “Would you like to see another?” he smiles. Wolfgang sets the rabbit onto his lap and nods. 

Maxwell shuffles the cards in various ways before spreading out the deck in front of Wolfgang who knows this trick well enough that he picks one and puts it back in a different place respectively. Maxwell shuffles the cards again before pulling out a joker card.

“Is this your card?”

Wolfgang can’t hide his disappointment that well, “Eh, is not.” That disappointment is soon replaced as Maxwell reaches over and plucks a black card from the strongman’s pocket. His expression quickly melts into awe at the slimmest glimpse of the metallic design. It’s an ace of hearts. His card. The strongman is so overjoyed and amazed at how he even managed to make the card appear in his pocket that he wraps the older gentleman into the biggest bear hug he can manage. 

Maxwell manages to worm his arm free enough to tuck the ace of hearts back into Wolfgang’s pocket, “How about you keep that one safe for a while?” 

“Happily.”


End file.
